


ready for the start of something new

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: fall in with you [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Holidays, I did mention knifeplay, Knifeplay, New Year's Eve, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Right?, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: It's New Year's Eve; Thor has come through with the speakeasy access; and Darcy has an awesome dress. It's as good a time as any to have a talk with Clint.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And now, we're post- _Age of Ultron_ , but not up to the events in _Civil War_. (Also, if you've read this series before, yes, I have, as of July 2018, reordered the individual stories so they're in chronological order, not in publication order.)

"You know," Darcy says in as casual of a tone as she can muster, "we don't _always_ have to do stuff I want." She glances up at where Clint is flipping through the endless channels that come standard with a set of rooms at the Tower, but then looks back down at the dress and shoes and jewelry she's found for the night. It's New Year's Eve and Thor (to the surprise of many, but not Jane and Darcy, who really do understand how much he likes to keep promises) has indeed gotten them on the list for not one, but two of the most private places in New York. Darcy is finished with school; Jane has made great progress in her new algorithms--the party is _on_. Darcy's just been thinking about some things and now is as good a time as any to get certain discussions kicked off. _Carpe diem_ , and all that. "I mean, I know this speakeasy thing isn't really your style."

"Eh," Clint says. "It's not really yours either." 

"No, but--"

Clint tosses the TV remote onto the coffee table and comes over to sit on the side of the bed, which effectively kills all the plans Darcy had use the little bit of distance to hide her nerves. "I figure we'll have fun regardless," he says. "Yeah?" She nods, because that's pretty much the truth, but then he says, "But that's not all you're talking about, is it?" and she's stuck.

It's stupid: she's a grown woman, an actual college graduate now, and she's been having sex since she was sixteen. She should be able to start a talk with her partner about their sex life without having a case of the vapors. Apparently, though, her adrenal glands beg to differ. But, whatever. Even if her heart is racing, she can still have the conversation. Function over form, substance over style, she reminds herself. Fake it ‘til you make it. (Or you fall on your face.)

With that cheerful thought, she metaphorically rolls her eyes at herself and says, "No, not really." She sounds a little shaky, but she's not stopping. "I mean, yes, because you always let me drag you off to wherever--"

"Usually to have a good time," Clint interjects, and she crosses her arms over her chest and Looks at him. 

"I am not going to get through this if you don't keep interrupting me," she says. She mostly just expects an eyeroll in reply but he gives her a Look of his own.

"I'm just making sure you know that whatever has you all wound up in your head isn't something that I'm sitting on and stewing." He stops for a second. "At least I'm pretty sure I'm not."

"I don't actually think that you are," Darcy tells him. "I just kinda want to get to it before it turns into a big thing." That's mostly true, with a tiny bit of other stuff going on, but since she can only barely think about the other stuff, it's going to take a little while longer to figure out words she can say about it.

Clint mutters something about borrowing trouble, but since that's all he says, Darcy takes a deep breath and just goes for it. "It's… a sex thing," she says, which is not untrue, but probably not the best way to start off, not judging from alarm bells she can practically hear ringing in his head. "No, _no_ , nothing's wrong--"

"But you need to talk about it," Clint says, clearly not believing her. "You're _freaked_ to talk about it, but you're making yourself go on--"

"I don't want you to get bored!" Darcy says, which, again, is not the best way to say things, but she could see all the bad directions he was heading for and she maybe got a little flustered. Or a little _more_ flustered. 

"Darlin'--" Clint starts. 

"No, seriously," Darcy says, because now that her mouth has broken the ice and left the barn door open (to mix a few metaphors), the rest of it is easier to say. "I mean, you've been doing this for a while--" He mock-winces at that, and she rolls her eyes at him. "Watch it, or I'll start matching up what I know you had to be doing when I was in kindergarten." His wince is for real this time, which is not the mood Darcy is going for, so she crosses over to where he's sitting and settles herself next to him. "I'm just saying that you really tend to let me run the show in bed and I wanted to make sure you knew I was okay with you… having opinions there, too."

Clint snickers at that, so she pokes him a couple of times. It gets quiet after that, for long enough that Darcy thinks the conversation's over, but when she stands up to go get dressed, Clint reaches for her hands and says, "I can do that, but you have to promise to say 'no' if something doesn't work for you."

Darcy's ready to scoff at that--like she's ever been slow to share what's on her mind--but he's really serious, so she shoves all the automatic smartass to the back of her mind and squeezes his hand. "I will, promise." She nods once, firmly. "And that goes for you, too, Hawkeye."

She absolutely expects a smirk at that, but he's still serious. "No problem."

"Good." Darcy leans forward enough that she can kiss him lightly. "I mean it. We are definitely good."

"We are," Clint confirms.

"Okay," Darcy says, smiling just because there's their first Serious Sex Talk all taken care of, and it even went well. "I'm gonna go get dressed."

"You do that," Clint says, leaning back with a smirk. She expects him to go pick up the remote again, but he stays where he is, his eyes never leaving her. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to realize what's going on. (In her favor, she's dealing with the most expensive pair of stockings she's ever owned. She'd debated about buying a back-up pair, but decided food was probably a better use for her money, at least until her internship with NASA starts, and so is reeeeeally focused on not tearing them up before she even gets to wear them.)

"You like to watch, superhero?" Darcy manages to say it lightly enough, but her voice comes out a little more breathless than she likes. Then again, she pretty much knows the answer to her question--his eyes are dark and intense, not hiding anything--and it maybe turns out she likes to _be_ watched. At least right here and now.

"I like a lot of things," Clint answers. For all that he's still leaning back on his elbows, super casual and chill, he sounds a little strained, like there's a lot more going on than just what's on the surface. Knowing that gives Darcy the extra bit of courage to drop her robe right there in front of him rather than going into the bathroom to change. It's stupid to feel that vulnerable--he's seen her without clothes for months now. Hell, he's gotten her out of them dozens of times himself. Standing there in just her thong and stockings and garter belt, though, feels even more naked than naked. 

She's hyper-aware of Clint, absolutely still except for how his eyes are moving over her, flicking over her mouth and tits and the skin she knows is paler than pale against the tops of her black, sheer stockings. Her nipples, already tight from the sudden chill of being bared, harden even more as his gaze lingers on them. She wants to touch them, finger them the way she knows he likes to see--they're aching for it--but that's a little too far for her to go, at least right now.

Darcy is barely breathing as she reaches for her dress and her hands shake a little as she unfastens the button at the top of the back zipper. It takes her longer than it should to get the dress to where she can slip it on; she has to bite back a gasp as the cool, satiny lining slides over her suddenly sensitized skin. 

"Come make yourself useful," she says, inordinately proud of how normal her voice sounds. She turns her back to him and pulls her hair over one shoulder so he can get to the zipper. Faster than she expects--and more quietly, for all she knows that he can move like a cat--there's a warm, rough hand flat on her back and a mouth dropping kisses to her shoulders and neck. Darcy isn't exactly sure how, but she's both soothed and even more keyed up at the touch.

"No fancy, matching bra?" Clint murmurs against her skin, close enough that she shivers at the light touches. "Isn't that breaking one of your life rules?"

"It's--" Darcy has to stop as he slides his hands around under the still-loose fabric of her dress, stroking and teasing at the line of her garters. "The dress is taking care of it for me," she manages to say. She feels him nod, and then his hands are all business, sliding the zipper up and catching the button at the top. 

He doesn't move away when he's finished, though--and Darcy might not know what's going on, but like hell is she stepping away from whatever it is. Her good sense is rewarded when Clint presses another line of kisses up her neck and under her jaw. These ones are slower, more thorough, and she can't help shuddering at the occasional brush of his tongue or the scrape of his teeth. By the time he makes it to where he can worry at her earlobe with nipping little bites that push right up against where it hurts too much to be fun, her heart is pounding so hard she can barely hear him say, "Incoming opinion, okay?"

Actual words pretty much aren't happening, but Darcy manages to make an affirmative sort of noise and a nod. 

"I'd kinda like it if you lost the thong," Clint says, his voice low and a little rough. "Have it just be you and those stockings under the dress."

Darcy's heart takes to skipping every second or third beat as her brain misfires a couple of times while it's thinking about walking around some super-exclusive club in just the dress and stockings. And--even more--knowing that Clint would be watching her and knowing, too. 

Yeah, total brain whiteout there.

"Darce--?"

"Okay, yes, I can do that," she blurts out before she actually realizes she's going to speak. "I-- Yes."

Clint takes her by the shoulders and turns her around so she can't not look at him. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, serious in a way that she's only seen a couple of times. "Because I was just running my mouth, so if you're doing it because you don't want to back down--"

"One," Darcy interrupts, "I _asked_ you to run your mouth about stuff like this. Not ten minutes ago, dude." She's still really fucking turned on, but she's also in full possession of all her faculties. "Two," she steps in and wraps her arms around his waist, tucking her face in against the strong column of his throat, "don't do that. You weren't 'just' running your mouth. You had an opinion, you put it out for discussion, and I, uh, agreed."

The more she thinks about it, the more she 'agrees,' (for values of the word that include half the nerve endings in her body going into overload at the thought.) Her voice had gotten a little hoarse and unsteady, though, so she tightens her hold on him just to add the extra body language. There's a _Three_ rattling around the back of her head, and it has to do with how much she's liking him telling her what to do, but she needs to think about that more before she talks about it, so she just holds on tight and waits for him to answer.

"You're sure?" Clint asks again.

Darcy takes a deep breath and lets it trickle out. The skirt of her dress is short, but not super-short, and it's cut close to her hips and thighs, so it's not like it's a flippy little thing that would flash everyone any time she moves. She's still going to have to be careful, and pay attention to how she's sitting or getting in and out of cars, but… That's kind of the point, right? Knowing she's going to be mostly naked under everything and having to deal with it all. She tips her head back to look at him.

"Yeah," Darcy says. The words are easy and clear. "I'm sure." 

"Okay," Clint whispers, but catches Darcy's hands when she starts to shimmy her skirt up over her hips. "Let me…"

"It's a little complicated with the garters and all," Darcy tells him, or at least she starts off with that intent. She trails off when he smiles at her, because it's his wicked, _wicked_ smirk, the one he uses when he has an idea that's guaranteed to raise holy hell. 

"Yeah," Clint says, stepping back and reaching behind him. "I figure this will take care of it all." His hand comes back into view and he shows her the knife in it. It's one of the ones Darcy is very, very careful of when it's in between being in its sheath at the small of his back and locked up in a weapons safe. It's not really all that big or nasty-looking--she'd basically had a panic attack the first time she'd ever seen a K-Bar, but this is nothing like that--but it's sharp and lethal and now it's _right there_. She actually isn't sure how long it takes her to drag her eyes away from it and back to Clint's face, except that it had seemed like forever, but probably hadn't been; and she's not sure either one of them had been breathing much until she did. 

"Okay?" Clint asks, and then when she nods, adds, "I need to hear words, Darce."

"It's okay," Darcy answers. Her mouth and throat are so dry that she has to work extra hard to get her voice out there, but she does it and he hears it and then he's easing her skirt up to bunch around her waist. One tiny part of her brain can't believe she's doing this, but the rest of it is so onboard with it all that she's impressed she's still standing. She's back to not being able to take her eyes off the knife, but now at least her brain is noticing stuff other than the actual blade, things like Clint's hands and how easily he moves the hilt around, smoothly, almost delicately. 

From there, it's not much more than a tiny baby step in her brain to how well she knows what being the thing being handled feels like (and how much she likes it) and her heart is back up in jackrabbit territory and they haven't really even done anything yet. She's going to totally lose it when things really get going, but again: kind of the point.

"I need you to hold still," Clint says. Darcy gasps out an _okay_ and somehow manages not to jump at the first touch of the knife. She'd expected it to be cold, but it's warm, almost skin temperature-- _because Clint's been wearing it, duh_ , the functioning part of her brain says. She can't really see anything now, only the back of Clint's head where he's sitting on his heels and leaning in to her. She knows the focused, intent set of his shoulders, though, and it's enough that she can relax into the scariness of the flat of the blade skimming along the outside of her thigh and hip. It's a weird, weird feeling, but it's pretty clear she's liking it. Going by how Clint's teasing her, dragging the flat up and down her leg, he's figured that out, too.

"Don't you fuck up those stockings," Darcy says. "I don't have a spare set." She grins as he huffs out a soft laugh, but then has to drop her head back and focus hard on her breathing when he adds a little pressure to the knife and she can just barely feel the edge. Her brain can't decide if it's more freaked out or turned on, but it definitely knows she can't just let that challenge slide. "I mean it, Barton," she grits out. 

"I like them, too," Clint says. "I'm not going to mess them up." He traces along the top edge of the right stocking, drawing a smooth, straight line to the inside of her thigh before he skips to her left leg and does it in reverse. He's barely touching her with the knife, so it tickles more than anything, but she knows how sharp the damn thing is and how much it isn't a toy and doesn't so much as twitch. "At least not now."

"Promises, promises," Darcy gasps, but then he's working the knife under the tight elastic at the top of her thong, right below her hip, and everything but staying totally still flies out of her head. "Oh, shit," she hears herself whimper as he twists the blade a little and it slices through the elastic like it was paper. "Shit, shit, shit," she babbles as he makes short work of the other side and the thong slithers down her legs and drops to the floor. 

"Easy," Clint murmurs, sliding his hands up her legs to tug her skirt back down. The familiar touch--Darcy knows every callus and scar and how his pinkie isn't quite straight--flips a switch in her brain and the whole _don'tmovedon'tmoveDON'TMOVE_ alarm stops shrieking and her knees almost buckle. "Easy," Clint repeats, standing up and getting his arms around her. "I got you; easy, darlin'." His timing is excellent, because she's suddenly shaking hard enough that she needs the extra support. She'd be a little embarrassed by how much this whole thing is affecting her, but with her head on his chest, she can hear how fast and hard his own heart is beating so it's not just her. 

Darcy gets herself pulled together as fast as she can, just in case she's freaking Clint out. It doesn't really take all that much effort, not with how her blood's racing in anticipation for the rest of the night. At some point, she really will crash, and it will be epic, but that's not now. She tips her head back and goes up on her toes to kiss him firmly on the mouth.

"I'm good," Darcy says, because oh, yeah, she can see those questions in his eyes. "Swear."

"Tell me if you get to where you aren't," Clint answers. He's back to that serious stuff, which Darcy gets--and appreciates--but at the same time, she doesn't want him to tear himself up over it. 

"I will," Darcy promises. She shimmies a little, just to settle her dress after the extraneous activities. It doesn't feel all that different, not having any underwear on, but it's definitely not the same. A little freaky, but in a mostly good way. 

Mostly. 

Kinda. 

She takes a deep breath, and then kisses Clint again. That's always good. "For real." 

"This is a stupid time to be having this conversation, but I mean it," Clint says. "It would… put me in a bad place to know I'd dumped you into something that you couldn't handle."

"We always pick weird times for conversations," Darcy points out. "But we have them now."

"Yeah," Clint agrees. "Which is not something I can say about most of my life."

"Score," Darcy says, adding one more kiss to the mix. This one goes from light and goofy to serious and hot in the time it takes to blink, and she's back to being a little off-balance by the time they have to stop to breathe. "Okay, enough for now," she says, channeling all her willpower and stepping back so she's not tempted to throw the whole night to the wind and just watch the televised ball drop from bed.

"You need to get changed and I need to do my make-up," Darcy says. "There are pretentious, artisanal gin cocktails with my name on them out there, and I want to see Thor chatting up the hipster bartenders. My brain is threatening to break at the thought."

"Sure thing, darlin'," Clint says, letting his hand slide down her back and over her butt, where, Darcy's brain is quick to point out, she is _not wearing any underwear_. Clint's eyes tell her he's thinking the exact same thing, and Darcy gives up trying to be chill about it all in favor of basically running across the room to the mirror and her make-up bag.

She hears Clint laugh a little, but since it is _way_ less smug than she expects, she lets it go and just concentrates on getting a good wing on her eyeliner. It's not at all lame to celebrate getting that on the first try, she tells herself, right before she messes up her lipstick (Victory Red, the best throwback to the 40s she's ever found) and has to start over again. 

_Steady_ , Darcy tells herself. The lipstick is almost the last thing. Her (awesomely retro) evening bag is ready and waiting, her wrap is good to go, and there is apparently no telling what else the night's going to bring.

"You good?" Clint asks, coming out of the bathroom in all black, his hair still a little damp and tousled, just exactly how Darcy likes it. She makes a mental note to get her hands in it ASAP. 

"The best," Darcy answers, not being particularly careful as she bends over to buckle the ankle strap on her heels. Her skirt isn't that short, but Clint's eyes still look a little glassy when she stands back up, and yes, it's going to be an _fantastic_ night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I'm writing PWPs this year. Who knew? There is definitely more coming; I just posted this part as a reward for cleaning out closets in between jobs.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere close to midnight, Darcy borrows a little bit of Jane's love for data and decides her brain's reaction to her lingerie (/lack thereof) situation is a classic U-shaped (fine, Jane would say bimodal, whatever, Darcy is not a math nerd, she just plays one for a paycheck) statistical distribution. She'd started out the evening fucking paranoid about flashing people (especially once the Stark party arrived for dinner. She's still not sure who would have been the most embarrassing, but she's pretty sure Jane would have killed her if she'd had a wardrobe malfunction in front of The Boss, aka, Ms. Perfect-Potts.) It hadn't helped that every time she thought about not flashing everyone, she'd naturally thought about why, and of course her brain is really good at knowing where Clint is, so she spends a lot of time watching him watch her and thinking about what she is or isn't wearing, which circles around to being paranoid about who else might know and knowing where Clint is, etc, etc, etc.

Jane, of all people, knocks her out of the cycle, mostly by being her usual dorky self and getting all into the New-Year's-Eve-iness of the night with a sort of awkward enthusiasm that Darcy absolutely can't leave unsupervised. Once she's kicked her brain out of its endless loop o' lust, it drops back to a more manageable level of distraction. She's still really aware that there's this game going on between her and Clint, and aware that he's aware, but she can think about other things. 

That's the dip and the holding-steady-at-slightly-elevated-levels-of-lust part of the aforementioned bimodal distribution. (Still not a math nerd but being clinical about it helps keep things a little more stable, and Darcy needs all the help she can get at this point, because she is really, really not in that bottom part of the graph now.)

It's not any sort of a surprise that it's Clint who jack-knifes her back up into the stratospheric levels of being all-revved-up-and-waiting-for-the-starting-gun. Darcy's willing to take a little of the blame, too, because she's the one who kicks it all off by going over to where Clint's standing at the end of the bar shooting the breeze with Sam and snuggling up next to him. (She's also willing to admit that she's right on the line between 'snuggling up to' and 'rubbing up against', so, yeah, maybe more than a little responsible for the reversal.) 

Clint plays it cool (he's reeallllly good at that sometimes) and just drapes an arm around her shoulders while he and Sam finish up their bitch session (Darcy isn't really paying attention, not with how good Clint smells and feels, but she's willing to bet her student loan repayments that they're venting about Steve and Tony.) Sam finishes up with a promise to Darcy that he'll be glad to show her around DC when she moves down for the internship, and then it's just Clint grinning down at Darcy and her very, very pretentious artisanal cocktail (they make their own tonic water here. It was too much fun to watch the bartender explain it to Steve.) 

"You having fun, darlin'?" Clint asks.

"It's like another universe," Darcy says, explaining about Steve and the bartender. There is some handwaving necessary for this, so she lets Clint finish what's in her glass, but she's not going to argue that it's not fun to kiss the taste of it all out of his mouth a minute later.

"You disappeared for a while," Darcy says when they come up for air. "Please don't tell me there's an Avenger thing on the horizon."

"Nah," Clint answers. "We're free and clear there, at least so far." He leans down to kiss her again, and then says, his voice low and his mouth right by her ear, "I was just looking to see if I could find a place in the back where I could flip your skirt up and fuck you."

All the noises--the voices of the crowd and the music from the little jazz trio on the stage, the girl who's laughing right behind Darcy and the bartender calling to the back for another case of beer--disappear for a second, and all Darcy can hear is Clint's low murmur and her own heart beating hard and fast. That's the point where her bimodal response graph zooms up and literally off the chart, and she is excruciatingly aware--like, every nerve ending pinging up sharp and sweet, all of them, all at once--of just how easy it would be to do exactly what Clint just said. 

It's just that one split second, and then the air rushes back into her lungs and the noise of the bar cascades back over her. She makes herself move, tipping her head back so she can see his face, his eyes dark and serious and really not kidding at all. Her heart's still pounding and she could probably use an oxygen mask, but her voice only shakes a little when she asks, "Any luck?" 

Clint's smile is a little surprised, a little caught-off-guard (which Darcy will take for the win), but it's mostly just fierce and sharp. Darcy loves that smile, way beyond how it gets her all hot and bothered. It's like a promise between the two of them, one that doesn't just say he's looking forward to seeing how crazy he can make her, but that he's good with letting her return the favor. She's pretty sure Mockingbird's seen it, and maybe the Black Widow (who is separate in her brain from Natasha), but she'd be willing to bet not many others have, and she is all about being in that select group.

Clint takes her by the hand and leads her back by where the bathrooms are. She has a second to think they'll be going for that time-honored hook-up spot, but he doesn't hesitate as he guides her past them. He takes down a short flight of steps, the brick worn and uneven, and then tugs her into a little storage closet. 

"Not bad," Darcy says, a little breathless at how quickly he crowds her up against the wire shelves and how he hasn't made a move to close the door behind them. Clint's grin gets a little sharper, a little more hungry, and then he's kissing her hard and rough, nothing like the fun, almost-sweet tease they'd had going on upstairs in the bar. Darcy can admit she's whimpering into the kiss, but she dares anyone even the slightest bit attracted to guys not to be making noise with all that focus and attention lasered in on them. Clint barely lets her breathe enough to keep standing, but then he slides his hands up under her skirt to play with her stockings and knead at her ass, and Darcy for-real, honest-to-god comes closer to an actual swoon than she's ever come in her life

She doesn't, though. (She feels it's really important to note that, even if it's just to herself.) 

She digs her nails into his biceps and locks her knees and keeps herself upright somehow even with his fingers teasing at the crease of her ass and his knee pressing her legs further apart.

"So, here's the thing," Clint murmurs as he not-quite-kisses/not-quite-bites a path along and under her jaw. "I can do that, right now, fuck you here--" His hand is curled under the high part of her thigh now, fingers teasing up to almost press inside her, and, despite trying to keep her cool, Darcy can't help trying to rock down on them. He moves with her, though, keeping his hand just a little away from where she wants it. It's seriously frustrating, but at least her irritation at not getting what she wants cuts through the general fuzziness that apparently comes from having her blood spending a lot of time in places not near her brain.

"Not really seeing what's stopping you," Darcy manages to hiss. Clint fucks a couple--maybe three? Darcy's brain is mostly on white-out, so who knows?--fingers up into her at that, twisting them around and pressing deep before he drags them back out to tease at her again. "Seriously," Darcy grits out. "What. Is. Stopping. You?"

"Easy, darlin'," Clint says, his mouth back close to her ear, where his voice sounds like it's inside her head. Darcy shivers at the thought--she's had boyfriends before, but nobody's really ever gotten to her like this. "You need to hear the rest, okay?"

Darcy is just about to the point of jerking away (she knows he'll let her go if she moves) and getting herself off right there in front of him, but she feels like that's walking the line of cutting off her nose to spite her face. Just to make sure her thought processes are still functioning, she goes ahead and creates a mental list:

a) She is really ready for this tease to be over with, but   
b) She's had to deal with, uh, _matters_ herself for most of the semester, and she would like for her guy to be a little more involved with this specific resolution.   
Also, c) She kinda asked for this and having a tantrum and bailing on things now will probably do nothing but reinforce all those tendencies said guy has to treating her with kid gloves.

"Fine," Darcy sighs. "Finish up. You can fuck me right here, but... "

"It'll be over," Clint says. "Fast, because I can already tell you I'm not going to be taking my time if we're doing this right here and now. But it'll be good. Or," he sighs out.

"Or…?" Darcy starts to repeat, but can't even get that little bit of a word out as he pushes back up inside her. 

"Or," Clint says, his voice not much more than a whisper and his fingers just barely flexing inside her, "We hold off until we're back at the Tower and then I can take my time with you, not just fuck you, but see how many times I can make you come." Darcy has her fair share of sex--some good, some not-so-good, some _excellent_ \--but she is hard pressed to remember the last time she's been so crazy just from a little fingering. Again, she is proud of herself for not letting her knees buckle, but forming words is impossible. Clint doesn't get all smarmy about it, though, just keeps up with the not-quite strokes that are making Darcy want to whine and beg, and says, "I'm thinking we could play with the knife a little more, see where else you like it going…"

Darcy does actually whimper at that. Clint nods, almost like he's sympathizing with her, which is, you know, nice, given that he's driving her half-insane. "Swear to god," he murmurs. "I can't decide." 

Darcy manages to take a deep breath, and then another, and her brain starts to come back online. She's still so turned on she can't be bothered to care that anybody could walk in on them at any time, but she doesn't feel quite like her brain is total mush, enough that when he asks if she's got an opinion, she can at least _mmm_ a little in response and pretend like she's thinking about it. She doesn't think she really has any higher thought processes left, but then she hears her own voice saying, "Are you sure? Because I'd be okay with doing what you want."

'Okay' really is not the right word for the tangle of feelings bouncing around inside Darcy, but since she can't believe she's actually put the idea out there, she doesn't think she's going to be any more articulate about it, at least not until she sees what kind of a reaction it's going to get.

Clint goes really, really still for a second, and then when he relaxes almost immediately, Darcy knows he thinks he misunderstood what she was trying to say. The part of her brain that is flipping out about her admitting she wants something like that is all for letting that interpretation stand, but the stubborn part that is forever cleaning up her runaway mouth's messes is kind of appalled that she might waste the effort it took to get the actual words out of her head. The stubborn part--of course--wins, and this time her words aren't such a surprise to hear.

"Seriously," Darcy says. "I mean that exactly the way it sounds."

Clint doesn't say anything for an endless amount of time. (Darcy will concede that it's probably less than thirty seconds, objectively, but holy shit, it seeeeeems like forever.) She knows the look in his eyes, though--it's the same one that's always there in situations like this, so she's not surprised when he steps back and lets her go, smoothing her skirt down over her hips. She's not _happy_ about the break in the mood, mind you, but the hard part's already gotten said and he's not thinking horrible things about her. (There is no real reason she should have been worried about that, she knows this, but… well, no one ever said her brain was logical.) With the actual admitting part done, she can talk about it all as much as he wants.

"Darlin'--" he starts, but then stops when Darcy grins up at him, because she really likes it when she gets it right about him, and she knows he's lecturing himself about making sure she's good with things. It's been like this ever since the first night they didn't actually have sex and it's kinda nice. "I--" he tries again, and this time Darcy lays a finger on his mouth.

"Yes," she tells him. "I do know what I just said. No, I am not too drunk to realize it. Yes, I probably should have brought it up in a calmer moment, but, you know my mouth doesn't always consult with my brain."

There's probably more she can say, but she's edging up to where she's babbling, which isn't going to help sell her 'I-am-in-control-of-my-sexual-choices' scenario, so she just finishes off with a nod.

"You done?" Clint cocks an eyebrow at her, and when she shrugs a 'mostly' answer, takes her hand away from his mouth. He doesn't let go of it, though. "Okay," he says, drawing the word out slowly. "I was… not expecting that as an option."

"I wasn't really expecting it to come out of my mouth either," Darcy admits. "I mean, I, um, did kinda think about it--actually, it was more that I thought about thinking about it, earlier, but it wasn't anything more than that." She stops to catch her breath--and yeah, so much for not falling into babble mode. She really just should shut up, but she needs to finish off the thought. "The whole thing with the thong--it wasn't just doing it, it was doing it 'cause you wanted it."

Going by how hot her face feels, she's pretty sure her it's beet red by now, but she plows on. "If you don't--if it's not something you want, it's fine, I just--"

"Whoa," Clint says. "Who says it's not something I want?" 

"I, uh," Darcy starts to answer, her higher thought processes checking out again at the intent look in his eyes. "Was just checking?"

"Not a bad thing," Clint says. "Just don't get it into your head that I'm not on board with it. Or that I'm not going to at least hear what it is that you want even if it doesn't work for me." 

Impulsively, Darcy leans up on her toes to kiss him, because the last thing she ever expected when she applied for an internship in the desert was an actual, functional relationship with a hot, sweet guy. If she's being honest, she'd have believed the part of the story about aliens falling out of the sky a lot easier than her getting a good guy, even before you add in the Avenger-factor. 

"Back on topic," Clint says once Darcy has to stop kissing so she can breathe. He, of course, doesn't even sound like he's skipped a breath. (It is at times like this that Darcy has to remind herself that the aggravation she feels at his being super-in-control of his body is more than counterbalanced by the times when said control is infinitely more to her advantage, aka, oral with his breath control is fucking amazing.) "Is that what you want tonight? Me running the show?"

Darcy makes herself actually stop and think. Just because her subconscious threw it out there doesn't mean it'll hold up in the light of day. A lot of the things that start off that way don't. This one, though… This one makes her a little light-headed just to think about, and the more she considers all the possibilities, the more she wants to see what happens for real.

"Yes," she says, shivering a little as Clint nods and flicks a look that skims her up and down. "If you want it, too." She tilts her head and returns the look. "I mean, if you don't want to deal with it tonight, that's okay, too. We can just flip a coin, or something."

Clint huffs out a laugh. "I'm fine 'dealing' with it--" Darcy can hear the air quotes without even straining. "--so long as what I said earlier, about you calling a hard stop if you need it--that still goes."

"It does," Darcy promises. "I will."

"Okay," Clint says, still holding her hand as he walks her out of the room. They're all the way back up to the main room when he stops and leans close, murmuring in her ear, "And darlin', if you think that us being here right now means nothing's happening until we get back to the room, you haven't really thought this situation through at all."

Darcy stares at him, her heart rate jackrabbiting back up to the crazy high level it had been down in the little storage room, before all the talking had started. Clint smiles like he knows how suddenly hard it is for her to breathe.

"Don't think I won't take you right back down there and fuck you against those shelves if I feel like it. Or just take you out into the alley." His eyes are dark and hot; Darcy can't look away even to blink. "You're already wet and open; I wouldn't have to do much but spread your legs." His smile deepens. "And don't just think you'll get to come on the first try, or the second, or maybe even the third, no matter how pretty you're begging for it." 

Somebody--Sam? Darcy is waay too preoccupied with Clint to bother about extraneous details--calls to them; Clint waves in that way that says they're on their way over, but doesn't really stop talking to Darcy. "Or maybe not," he's saying as he drops his hand down to the small of her back and starts to guide her across the room. "Maybe I'll see how many times I can make you come, make you beg that way."

Darcy can see how carefully Clint's watching her, mostly, she judges, to see how well he's winding her up, but a little to be sure she's okay. She's definitely wound up, which, what with how she's barely walking without stumbling, she figures he's already noticed, but she's less sure he's got it that she's totally okay with him making her half-crazy with lust. The last thing she wants is for this thing she's asked for to end being something he stresses over, so she makes sure to smile at him, and times her reply so that she's saying, "You let me know what you decide, superhero," right as they get to the table. 

Clint returns her smile, which is always nice, but--even better--the tension around his eyes relaxes. Darcy slides into the chair he's holding for her, leaning back into where he's standing behind her and settling in to see where the rest of the night takes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they're taking their own sweet time with the actual sex, but I feel like it took forever to actually get them together in the main story, they can do whatever they want now that they're actually a couple.


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy generally harbors mixed-to-positive feelings for Tony Stark. On the one hand, he’s apparently as smart as he thinks he is (even Jane thinks so) and he does know how to spend his money, which is vastly entertaining. On the other hand, there is always, _always_ drama-with-a-capital DRAAAAAAAAA swirling in his wake, enough that it’s exhausting even part-time and on the fringes like Darcy is (and Darcy is saying that as something of a Drama Queen herself. ) As noted, it mostly comes down on the side where Darcy has fun (or at least can deal) when he’s around, but right now, tonight, if he doesn’t wrap up his Ye Olde Host Welcomes The New Year With Goode Fryends schtick and let Darcy get Clint someplace where they can get the actually important events of the evening in gear, Darcy is not going to be responsible for her actions.

Clint, of course, thinks her muttered insults are pretty damn amusing, which is all well and good for him, but if that smirk she sees dancing just around the edges of his mouth comes all the way out, she very well might slap it off his face and take herself off for an extended session with her very favorite electronic boy-toy. 

When she tells Clint that (under the cover of Tony raising his goddamned champagne glass to Team!Work! _yet again_ , fuck him sideways), she thinks he really is going to break and go full-on, self-satisfied, douche-bro smug (which, don't get her started on how she'd react to _that_ ) but he manages to rein it all in and just say, "Hang in there, darlin'. Pepper's starting to look a little glassy-eyed; it won't be much longer now."

Privately, Darcy thinks Pepper's been on a knife's-edge all night, but since she no longer works for SI, Pepper is officially way out of Darcy's orbit and nobody is going to care what she's seeing. (Not that they would have even when Darcy did work for the company, but at least then she'd have the excuse of worrying about her job be a reason she'd be on the lookout for the ugly fall-out she can see dancing just over the horizon coming to fruition.)

"I wouldn't need to 'hang in there'," Darcy doesn't even need the air quotes, "if _someone_ had not been all about the tease tonight." She arches an eyebrow at Clint, but he doesn't even have the grace to look the slightest bit contrite even if he can't argue about the teasing part. Darcy is now well-acquainted with the wall next to the back door of the club _and_ the door of the little bathroom off the second barroom as Clint had had her up against both of them for what felt like eternities before he'd backed off and left her just shy of a shaking mess.

"It's only a tease when you don't make good on it," Clint says, letting his eyes flick over her.

"So they say," Darcy says. "I wouldn't know, not at this point." Clint snickers, but before he can open his mouth and really tick Darcy off, Tony finally finishes his latest toast (which Darcy is willing to admit have been mostly gracious for all their ill-timing for her, personally. It's probably not a bad thing for La Stark to be admitting that it feels amazing to stand in solidarity with a team and do good in the world. It's just that Darcy is so far past ready to be having some slightly less than vanilla sex that not even Pepper's personal stash of champagne [because of course Pepper has her own private stash and it's no less amazing for all that it's pink] is enough to distract Darcy from how much time they're wasting) and Pepper is waving good-bye to everyone. 

"Thank-fucking-god," Darcy mutters, turning to Clint with an expectant look. Given how cheerfully he has wound her up during the whole night, she halfway expects him to be playing a calm, chill card about getting one of the cars back to the Tower, but he has apparently taken her whining to heart and is already holding the door for her. Darcy reminds herself to pay attention to how she climbs into the car in front of Clint, because she has gotten through this entire night without flashing anyone, but the papps have figured out where the Avengers assembled for the New Year and she does not want pictures of her taking Clint up on his dare on the internet when she comes back down to the real world tomorrow or the next day.

Clint mostly ignores the flashes and shouts, throwing one quick, two-fingered salute to somebody he must recognize before following Darcy into their car. From what Darcy can see out of the window, most of the rest of the crew is doing the same, except for Tony and Pepper who've stopped to talk to a group with a video camera. 

"Man, that is not my idea of fun," Clint says as the driver pulls away from the curb and the flashes escalate into a blinding wave. He settles back into his seat and reaches for Darcy.

"Ditto," Darcy agrees, letting Clint tuck her up under his arm. "Good thing we can make our own fun, yeah?"

Clint doesn't answer with words, but he slants a crooked half-smile down at her and his hand slides up her thigh and under her skirt, so Darcy is pretty sure he is on board with her. 

The driver is quiet--and Clint isn't talking to him, which is not the usual case--so Darcy has the whole trip from Brooklyn back to the Tower to think about the current definition of 'fun.' Clint's keeping his hand in strictly PG-13 territory, stroking slowly up her leg to palm her hip, pressing down just enough that Darcy can feel the roughness of his calluses, but she's more than aware of how easily he could change his path and move straight into the porn category. 

She is totally okay with this concept.

The driver does his Stark-magic thing and has them around traffic and on the bridge back out of Brooklyn in far less time than Darcy expects. Manhattan is lit up and spread out in front of them and when Darcy looks to the left, she can see the Statue of Liberty standing her welcome out in the harbor. She somehow manages not to laugh out loud in disbelief of this pretty awesome situation she's found herself in. Of course, she's also been shot at, nearly blown up a couple of times, and lived in a variety of odd housing options through the years, so she will just have to thank the universe for this little bit of excellence and make sure she enjoys every second. 

Between the quiet and the long, long night, Darcy's brain reaaaaaly wants to zone out, but Clint keeps his hand moving and, well, yeah, no way she's falling asleep with _that_ tease happening. Right as they make the last turn into the plaza in front of the Tower, he finally does something, stroking one last lazy path over her hip and ass, curling his hand up under her thigh, high enough that Darcy has to bite her lip to keep quiet and not give it up to the driver that almost-sex is happening right behind him. 

"You're still wet," Clint murmurs, his mouth so close to Darcy's ear that she knows the driver probably doesn't even know he's talking. 

"Duh," Darcy breathes, but then sinks her teeth back into her lip as Clint works his fingers a little higher, stroking everywhere but where Darcy needs it most. On any other night, having him playing around like this would piss her off, but since tonight has officially been declared Darcy's Going With The Flow, she's able to relax into it and see what happens next.

The immediate answer to that is the car pulling into the underground garage and Clint not doing anything more than has already happened, which is, Darcy concludes with a sigh, probably for the best, as there really isn't enough time for anything but the basics happening in the car.

She's not _opposed_ to the basics, per se, but she thinks it'd probably be a let-down after the build-up through the night. Plus, she's not sure she's up for giving a third party, even one with the iron-clad NDAs that generally go along with anything in a personal range of Tony Stark, a show or even fodder for imagination when the privacy screen goes up.

"Thanks, man; I appreciate the ride," Clint's saying to the guy while Darcy is negotiating that final step out of the back seat combined with allllll the pretentious artisanal cocktails and her heels _and_ the general stupidity that comes from almost, but not quite coming her brains out at least three separate times during the previous few hours. 

Yeah, it's a lot.

Even focusing hard, she probably still would have ended up flat on her face at some point, but Clint's been paying attention to her all night long and being back at the Tower hasn't really changed that. He reaches out and lets her hold onto him for balance without so much as a smirk.

"Success," Darcy murmurs as they make it to the elevator without any disasters. "Because I have to tell you that I'd probably scream this place down if I twisted my ankle before we finish off the night."

"I can carry you from here," Clint tells her. "Just in case you don't want to risk the walk to the bedroom."

"Mmm," Darcy says, leaning up to kiss him as the elevator stars the smooth, dizzying rush up to the floor he's using. "I will take that under advisement."

She actually has no idea how long they end up making out before the lights dim and a discreet bing sounds--but the elevator is super-fast and they… really haven't moved for awhile. Like, a really long while.

Still, it's not like they've been wasting the time: Darcy's hair is down out of all its pins and she's gotten Clint's shirt untucked and unbuttoned so she's got skin-to-skin contact that she is not giving up, not even when he's backing them into the bedroom, one careful step at a time.

"Even more success," she manages to find the breath to say as lights go up in the room, just enough that she can see how wide and dark his pupils are. 

"Just getting started," Clint says, drawing her arms up over her head so he can twirl her around and get at the hook-and-eye and zipper to her dress. The room is warm, but she still shivers as he gets everything undone and pushed down, the fabric sliding off her shoulders and down over her hips with a whispery _shush-shush_ of satin and silk. 

There's a mirror on the opposite wall; when Darcy turns her head to look over her shoulder at Clint, she can see them in its reflection, her skin pale against the black of his shirt and pants. He smooths his hands over her hips and then holds her steady as she steps out of where her dress is pooled on the floor.

"Back to the beginning," Darcy says, her voice stubbornly not getting any louder than a whisper, but Clint is _watching_ her, his eyes moving slowly over her, skimming over her mouth and throat, dropping lower to linger on where her nipples have hardened, flicking over the curve of her hips and the black of the garter belt and stockings against the skin of her thighs. He's been watching her all night and she's known it, but now there really isn't anything to stop it from being _more_. 

Darcy's pretty damn proud she's even managed to choke out that whisper. 

"Is that where you wanted us?" Darcy asks, because apparently, her mouth can keep running even when she's practically light-headed from how much she _wants_.

"Almost," Clint breathes, bending close so he can drag his mouth up the side of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Her skin prickles in its wake, and when he nips at the curve of her ear, she doesn't quite whimper, but it's really, really close. 

Clint smiles against her skin, but then he steps back, away from her, and Darcy shivers in the sudden chill.

"Not quite the beginning of the night," Clint's saying as Darcy turns around so she can see what's going on now. She stops halfway, though, because he's got the knife out again, holding it flat across the palm of his hand, out where Darcy can't miss it. 

"Oh," she says, her heart suddenly slamming hard and her breath caught somewhere in her chest. "Now, I get why we're back here."

"We didn't do a whole lot with it," Clint says, swallowing hard. His eyes haven't left Darcy's face, not even for an instant, never mind that she's standing there in nothing but stockings and heels. "Before."

"We didn't," Darcy agrees, somehow finding the brainpower to finish her turn and get through the two steps it takes so she can reach out and touch the flat of the knife, the metal cool and smooth under her fingertips. Inside, she's shaky but her hand is steady as she traces the length of the blade. "I guess we're going to change that…?"

"Only if you're okay with it," Clint says, like he's skipping over the calm outside and focusing in on the part of her that's _really_ kind of freaked out (mostly it's about how not freaked out she is, but she is reeling a little that this turns her on as much as it does.)

"We're doing what you want, right?" Darcy murmurs, her eyes stuck on how her manicure ( _Big Apple Red_ , how was she supposed to resist that?) looks against the shiny metal of the blade. It's a cop-out, she knows it, but it slips out regardless.

Clint doesn't just let it slide, which is, Darcy decides, at least part of the reason she is so okay with this detour down a not-vanilla pathway. 

"Yeah, we are, I know," he says. "But this isn't if I'm gonna fuck you in the alley or hold off 'til we have a bed, this is--"

There's something in his voice, a sharp little edge that Darcy's heard before when he's started down the path where their age and experience differential isn't a good thing, enough that she jerks her eyes away from where she's all but fondling the damn knife. 

"This is serious," Clint's saying. "I know that, but I need to know you do, too. I'm good with this—" he moves the knife a little and breathes in once, slow and deliberate. "But things can happen. It’s part of the high, I guess," he finishes quietly. 

It's definitely time to be a person in charge of her sexual activities, Darcy decides. 

"I'm not… not-okay with it," she says, which, yeah, that's about as clear as mud. Fortunately, Clint follows along, at least enough that he doesn't interrupt. She adds, "And I will definitely tell you if that changes. Swear."

Clint looks down at her for what feels like a long time, but she means it, so it's easy enough to meet that look steadily (and maybe with an edge of her own that says she expects the same thing from him.) Finally, he nods, and his gaze flicks down to where she's still touching the knife. 

"Okay, then," he says, flipping the knife out from under her, catching by the hilt almost before she's even noticed it move and bringing the tip up to rest against her bottom lip. It's there and gone-- _like a kiss_ , Darcy's brain manages to stitch together under the blinding rush of lust that burns through her--with the barest taste of metal left behind for her tongue to find.

"C'mere," Clint's saying from over by the bed, where he's somehow gotten while Darcy has been trying not to fall over. "Darcy." Darcy blinks twice and gets her act together enough to carefully put one foot in front of the other. She will be _damned_ if she lets her heels trip her up now, after the whole extended tease of the night.

Clint's unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and toeing out of his shoes, but slowly, because he's definitely enjoying the show that she can't help but be putting on, not with the heels and the stockings and nothing else. 

"Is this where I comment on you and 'seeing better from a distance'?" Darcy asks.

"We already covered me and watching," Clint answers. "I'm just extending the theme."

Darcy's finally there in front of him, which is good, because she's out of snappy comments. It might be an actual personal record, but working that out is going to have to wait. Clint shrugs out of his shirt and Darcy's hands move of their own accord, stroking down his shoulders and arms, skipping over to his pecs and down to his navel. 

She expects him to match her touch for touch (she's dying for it, but she's not going to actually say that), but he just stands quietly, his quickening breath the only sign she's affecting him. She lets her hands wander a little, tracing down to the waistband of his pants before bringing them back up to finger at his nipples. 

"'S good, darlin'," Clint says as she flicks at them, her nails (and their perfect manicure, omg, Darcy is never going to be able to wear this color again in polite company) catching on them as they harden. She ducks her head down so she can lick across them and then bite at them, maybe a little harder than she intends. He hisses at that, but doesn't tell her to stop; Darcy eases off a bit, but keeps going, especially when his hands come up to comb through her hair. 

She loves that, always has, but right now it's not nearly enough. Her nipples are aching to be touched and her clit is throbbing no matter how hard she clenches her thighs. She wants his hands on her, _everywhere_ , but if that's not gonna happen, well, she's a big girl, she can take care of herself. She knows exactly how much of what she's doing to Clint is a mirror of what she wants to feel herself (spoiler alert: _all of it_ ); she can at least start with a little attention to her own already hard nipples. Even just the thought of her nails scraping over them makes them tighten more; she's going to lose it when anything actually happens.

"Don't," Clint warns before she even gets close, though. His fingers twist in her hair, one clean, sharp tug that doesn't do a thing to dial down how really fucking close she is to just throw dignity to the wind and beg for a touch. She's not quite there yet, and she thinks her glare communicates that nicely even if she does do as she's told and drop her hands. 

"Good girl," Clint tells her, and fuck, but she is going to have to think about why that ratchets everything boiling around inside her up a notch (or ten, _god_ ) but whatever it is, it's dragging a hard shiver out of her, one that's going to be impossible for the guy with the legendary vision to miss.

Which he doesn't, of course.

While Darcy supposes that could be the reason Clint's suddenly moving--and not-quite-manhandling/dragging her with him, mostly because she is scrambling to keep up--she's aware that she might have gotten herself into something a little (or a lot) out of her depth tonight. She's not sure she can read anything that's happening based on what's happened before, but that had kind of been her point in setting it all in motion. 

All of that flashes through her brain in the time it takes for Clint to land them on the bed, his back braced against the headboard and Darcy on her knees, straddling his thighs. She barely has time to get her weight settled before he's gotten his pants open and is pushing up into her.

"Ohgod," she gasps. She'd be embarrassed by how helpless she sounds except that Clint's breathing almost as hard and she can feel the strain in the muscles against her as they move together and so he can press deep inside her. She holds onto his arms and lets her spine and neck arch back, not entirely sure she's going to be able to sit up again and not really caring, not with how good he feels in her. "Oh, god, _finally_."

Clint's grinning at her as she gets herself up straight again (yay for her abs not being totally useless), but his hands settle on her hips and tighten whenever she tries to move. Darcy gives him A Look, because whatever it is she'd said earlier about him being in charge, she is just about over the tease.

"Did you forget why we were here?" Clint asks, the smile lines at the corner of his eyes deepening. "We could have done this in the car."

"Not with this much skin," Darcy points out, letting her hands trace up his arms. She still wants his hands on her, but she doesn't want any distractions from the main event and she's pretty sure he'll have something not good to say if she tries to touch herself again. 

"True," Clint admits. "That was another thing about why we're here, but not the main one." He reaches out to the bedside table and comes back with his knife. Darcy's getting a tiiiiny bit better about not fixating on the thing, but there's not a whole lot she can do about how her pulse bumps up at the sight, or about how she's sitting on Clint's lap--on his _cock_ , her brain amends--which makes it super easy for him to notice.

"You seemed to like it here," Clint says, stroking the blade over the outside of her thigh, right along the top of her stocking. Darcy manages to make her indrawn breath something a little less than a gasp, but it's close and there's nothing she can do about how her skin prickles and her nipples tighten. Clint notices that as well, but only says, "I thought you might like it other places, too."

Darcy licks her bottom lip, almost involuntarily chasing the taste of metal that's long since gone. "Okay," she whispers. 

"You were great before," Clint says. "I need you to do that again—you have to be still, no matter what. If you need a break, tell me before you can’t help moving."

"Promise," Darcy rasps out, her pulse slamming hard now. For a wonder, Clint doesn't make her wait, just draws the flat of the knife up over her hip and along the edge of her garter belt. It's a little freaky how familiar that feels after having done it just once, but it's like her nerves recognize the shape and cool smoothness of the knife from earlier in the night. Darcy doesn't quite relax into it, but there are definitely good associations with the sensation and she's soso ready for more.

"Really still now," Clint murmurs as he shifts the knife and traces a path across her skin with the wickedly sharp tip. _That's_ more, and everything inside her jolts awake and clamors for a turn. Darcy gasps out another acknowledgement, biting her lip as the light, sharp touch criss-crosses her stomach and dips down to tease at the swell of her thighs where they're bracketing his hips. Her cunt clenches hard at that and she half-sobs at how much she wants to be moving on his cock, but she wills herself to stay still. 

"Ah, that's good," Clint breathes, tracing along the sensitive skin again, playing with her, teasing at her until her cunt tightens around his cock with every flick of the knife, until she thinks she'll come like this, without really even having been fucked. He takes her right up to the edge, but then stops, takes the knife away from her skin and just watches her. Darcy gets the point with another hard shudder, hears his voice again, low and rough with all the club noises in the background, telling her she shouldn't think she'd get to come on the first try. _Or the second, or even the third._

Clint strokes her arms and shoulders, once and again with the flat, and then one more time where she can feel the edge of the blade skimming over her skin. She hears herself whimpering at that, but she doesn't move, not even when he scrapes a path up her ribs to stop just below her tits, not even when he tells her she's so good, so gorgeous, so perfect.

"More?" he asks, waiting until she chokes out a _yes_ , one that's followed quickly, so quickly by an even more desperate _please_. "Good girl," he says again and then she can't even breathe as he strokes the blade along the underside of each breast, first the right, then the left, then back to the right one to flick the tip across her already aching, throbbing nipple. 

Darcy wails at that, at how she's been dying for his hands or his mouth and how she doesn't know if this, getting what she’s wanted except not from him but from a knife is better or worse. The adrenaline floods through her at the thrill of it all, plus another wave from fear, and maybe a little defiance at how she maybe shouldn’t like it, but does. He flicks at her again, catches her in almost the exact same place so the feeling's doubled and tripled, and then one last time, _hard_ , so she can feel how close the knife is to cutting her, how easily her skin would part under its edge. 

It's scary and overwhelming and electrifying, and she can't _think_ , can't decide if she should stop him or cry or come or beg for more. She can't even classify the sounds coming out of her mouth as whimpering, they're so disjointed and breathless. By some miracle, though, she's managed to keep her eyes open and locked on Clint's. His are deep and steady, for all that his pupils are wide with arousal. He's okay, and if there's one thing Darcy knows bone-deep is that he'll make sure she's okay, too. Clint looks at all of that, the whole jumbled mess that Darcy knows is right there in her eyes and somehow threads the needle on all of it, backing off just enough that Darcy can gasp in a quick, steadying breath and then ducking his head down and sucking her aching nipple into his mouth. 

He's not gentle, not exactly, but he is careful and thorough, and by the time he straightens back up, Darcy's moaning helplessly, every nerve ending in her nipple feeling like it's hardwired straight to her clit. She wants to _move_ , to ride him, even just to squirm a little, but he lifts the knife up where she can see it and she forces herself to stay still.

"Time for more," Clint murmurs, changing things up and scraping the edge of the knife just hard enough to leave a stinging trail across the top of her other breast, stopping right before he gets to where her nipple has already hardened in anticipation of getting its own turn with the knife. "Nice," Clint says, his voice a little strangled for all that his hands are as steady as a rock. "Fuck, Darce, you feel so good on my cock."

Darcy wants to be cool about all of this, wants to be chill and laidback about this, this _scene_ that they're playing, like she's done it all before, but all that comes out when she opens her mouth is a whimpered _don'tstopdon'tstopplease_.

Clint listens to her (because of course he does, he always does when it comes to sex) and scrapes the knife over her skin again. He stops short of her nipple again--Darcy wants to cry in frustration--but then starts another path almost immediately, and this time when he hesitates, Darcy can tell from the muscles under her clutching hands that he's not stopping. She gets a split-second to try to get ready to deal with getting what she's asked for and then he's moving again, dragging a line of fire straight over her already painfully hard, sensitized nipple. 

She'd half-thought that she'd come from just that, but the way the knife catches on the ridges and flicks over the very tip hurts too much for her to do anything but want to get away. Before that even flashes through her brain, though, Clint's dragged the knife back up the other way, catching the underside of her nipple with the same agony before he throws the knife away from them and drops his hand to rub his thumb over her clit. Darcy's world whites out as the sudden, fierce pleasure floods through the burning ache from the knife and the orgasm that’s been dancing on the horizon all night crashes down over her.

She jerks helplessly, keening as she's caught in the middle of everything he's doing to her, everything she's asked for and okayed and _wanted_. _Fuck_ , she hears Clint say as her cunt clenches around him again and again, his cock thick and deep in her. _Oh, fuck yeah_. He moves with her, his cock rubbing inside her as he keeps his thumb grinding down on her clit, not giving her so much as a second to deal before the next wave buffets her, every one throwing her further away from anywhere that's sane and rational, forcing a second orgasm on her before she's finished with the first.

"Yes," Darcy sobs. "Yes _yes_ , come _on_." The knife is gone and she can move now, ride him like she's been dying to all night. Clint pushes up into her with short, desperate strokes and even as she's gasping and crying and shaking, a thread of smug satisfaction snakes through her at getting him that crazy, too.

\- - -

Clint gets back to normal long before Darcy does, of course. It's a control thing, she thinks hazily, and wonders if that's something they can play around with sometime, but then he's slipping out of bed and she has to table that thought so she can grump at him.

"Easy, darlin'," Clint says, hesitating on the edge of the mattress. He doesn't quite sound like he's teasing her, like he'd normally be doing if she'd been giving him a hard time about fucking and running, so she drags her eyes open to see what's up. "Just going to the bathroom…"

He does look a little… concerned, which Darcy finally puts together with how outside their normal routine they seem to have wandered during the night, so she hums and waves and sends him off. He does come back promptly and she does purr at that, so possibly it's all a continuation of the New Normal. 

"You okay?" Clint asks, but he sounds much more like himself, not like he's in the middle of an internalized lecture at how he's Done Bad Things, so Darcy doesn't really try to make her dreamy, "mmmm, flooooooating," sound more no-nonsense. It's probably okay; he huffs out a little laugh (which makes her smile, because, yes, she likes making him laugh) and then very, very carefully unbuckles her shoes and deals with her garter belt. That's all very nice, even before he peels down her stockings and runs a warm, wet, soft cloth alllll over her.

Darcy sighs happily at that and makes her eyes open again so he knows she's serious when she tells him that there's no need to return said cloth to the bathroom, just to drop it next to the bed and cuddle up. (She knows it doesn't quite come out as logically as it sounded in her head, but he does pretty much exactly what she'd asked, so she's counting it as fine.)

"Don't freak out on me," she says once he's satisfactorily wrapped around her, "but I'm not sure I'm going to be able to go to the crazy brunch they're having in the morning." Clint isn't quite as relaxed against Darcy as she'd like, so she pats his arm where it’s looped across her and wiggles back further into him. "Nothing bad, promise. I just… don't think I'm going to want to put on clothes and pretend like we didn't just … do all that."

Clint doesn't say anything, but he's definitely radiating a little less tension, so that's progress, Darcy decides.

"Although…" she muses, because her mouth has even less filter than usual, which is probably not surprising, "It'd be kind of a shame to miss more of Pepper's personal stash of champagne." 

They had brought several cases of said stash to the club, because that was apparently a normal, rich-person thing to do, and because, Darcy supposes, if you're putting up with Tony Stark drama on a regular basis, why not have your own personal bottles of bubbly? If they’d done that for going out, Darcy wouldn’t be surprised if Pepper didn’t have it on tap at the Tower.

"She'd probably share if you ask nicely," Clint says, which Darcy feels is a very sensible suggestion. He huffs out another laugh when Darcy tells him that, though.

"I'm so going to crash off this, aren't I?" At the moment, Darcy isn't too concerned about this inevitability, but that's probably the endorphins talking. "You're going to be there when I do, right?"

"Not going anywhere, darlin'," Clint breathes against her hair, which is about as excellent a start to a new year as Darcy's ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, sorry, I didn’t mean to take forever to finish this up!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Ready for Your Love_ , by Gorgon City.
> 
> I'm [**topaz119**](http://topaz119.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you want to come say hi. 
> 
> Or, if you like, feel free to [reblog](http://topaz119.tumblr.com/post/175244246873/fic-ready-for-the-start-of-something-new-topaz).
> 
> I've been keeping track of posts that remind me of this series on [this](http://topaz119.tumblr.com/tagged/mbb2) tag.


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